


reminiscence

by JemDoe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, as in this was written BEFORE the movie was released, so this works with trailer info only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemDoe/pseuds/JemDoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"imsebastianstan: 'Dead Cole, in [Bucky's] backpack there are a dozen notebooks that compose the scattered memories dating back to as far as he can remember which somewhat piece together a scattered life.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	reminiscence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Keep My Memories in a Backpack](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251746) by [MidnightandDiamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightandDiamonds/pseuds/MidnightandDiamonds). 



> highkey inspired by MidnightandDiamonds' I Keep My Memories in a Backpack tbh? so there ya go

The first time it puts pen to paper, it’s on a scrap of a ripped telephone number list on Germany, and the pen was one it found laying around. The memory was so _stupid,_ it couldn’t believe it took its time to write it down - Steve, little Steve stuffing the too big shoes he had with newspaper.

Somehow, writing helped to stir the dormant memories in his brain.

The second time it happens, it is already prepared - it ripped some holes around old Hydra bases, found some cash, bought a spiraled notebook and a simple blue pen. It didn’t need anything more.

It wrote the date and the memory - _steve’s mom is called sara and you liked her food -_ and the first one it had after so much time unsure of what and who it was.

It stuffed the notebook on its shirt and kept its trek towards something it wasn’t sure what it was.

Third and fourth and fifth and sixth time happen so close to each other it - a he, it supposes it was a he at some point - spends a morning writing, details flourishing under its pen so fast the pen runs out of ink. It borrows a pen from its neighbor on the other table with some heavily accented german and kept its writings.

When it notices, it is being questioned its name, its writings’ whose subject makes him write so much in so little time - _my name is bucky,_ it answers, not sure how it chose its own name, _and this is just some silly things._ It isn’t bothered anymore by its neighbor in the tiny coffeeshop, and leaves with the borrowed pen.

It notices that people carry notebooks like its - his? - on backpacks, so it - _he,_ it forces itself to say it, it is human, it guesses -, steals from his old empolyer’s base and buys the cheapest one. _He_ also buys a new notebook, the one he possess now already finished with its pages, blue ink dominating over white paper. He didn’t know one could hold so many memories.

 _Old habits die hard,_ he writes on the last page of the notebook, because he feels like beggining by the end. He thinks about food rations and odorless pastes and decided that it’s high time he tasted something new on his palate.

He jotes tastes and smells and sensations down, too, because if he loses those memories - he shudders to think about cold and electricity running through his body, shudders to think of his memories gone and past - he’ll always have some reference to what he likes in case he has to begin anew, like he’s doing now.

He finds out he dislikes green things but enjoys orange things; the smell of freshly brewed coffee makes his heart do weird things on his chest; the smell of fish makes him wanna shot someone. He writes it anyway. It’s his reference point.

At some point he remembers being called James, but the name leaves a sour note on his tongue. There’s also a middle name, something with a B he can’t exactly catch on, escaping his mouth like sand escapes through open hands.

He sees Starbucks, and the word _bucks_ is engraved on his mind until the man on the bridge - Steve? He looks like Steve, after the war, but wasn’t Steve dead at this point? He had left Steve on the shore, but he never knew if he had survived or not, too busy running to see the news - plays himself in his mind.

“ _Bucky?_ ”, the man asks, over and over on his mind to the point he considers dunking his head on freezing water to make it stop.

“Who the hell is Bucky”, he mutters to himself, deciding that he is Bucky, maybe, and it was time to find Steve.

When he meets Steve - the man on the bridge, the little rascal from the days Bucky wasn’t either the winter soldier or just a soldier with two flesh arms in a war too big for him -, Steve asks if Bucky remembers him.

“Your mom’s name is Sara”, he answers.”, and you used to stuff newspapers in your shoes.”

Steve offers him a pained smile.


End file.
